To No End
by Peanut Butter etc
Summary: When a tarkheena is given a mission to assasinate the High King of Narnia, what was once simple will twist into something she could have never imagined. Tensions between Calormen and Narnia thicken into blood, and love and hate spark up a dangerous flame.
1. Child's Play

AN: Before I start to ramble, I'll cut myself off and only say: Here's the first chapter of something of which I have a lot planned for. Enjoy!

Also, remember reviews=happy author. And who doesn't want a happy author ;)

One more thing, a big thank you to Metonomia for beta-ing this at 3a.m! :)

~P.B

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 1:**

**Child's Play**

_The little girl giggled, parting her pink lips. "My Papa would like to hear your stories. He will be home soon."_

Trembling breaths and ragged gasps echoed through the room, bouncing off the bedposts and flying up the walls.

"_Tarkheena, please allow me." He stepped behind the Tarkheena, and took hold of her chair with one hand._

Her body twisted, further entangling itself in the contorted clawed at her mind.

_Bloodcurdling screams rang out…"Momma!" _

Her head lurched to the side, gluing damp, dark strands to her face. Sticky, hot drops rolled down her forehead only to be slung off.

_Harec pulled the knife out with a sickening squelch. The lifeless body crumpled to the floor, letting the skull smack the tabletop, and fall in its own pool of blood. _

Thump, thump, thump…

_Gleaming, metallic liquid dribbled into the cracks of the floorboards._

Air surged into her lungs in short bursts, and her limbs shook under the sudden weight put on them. Her eyes frantically swept across the room. No body, no knife, no Harec, no blood only the furniture in the master bedroom and the faint moonlight shining in from the window.

_A dream---it was only a dream. Everything is fine. _

Air began to come more easily, and the furious thudding in her chest decelerated to an almost average pace. Faeriln lowered her weight onto her elbows, blinking away the droplets of sweat atop her eyelashes. Drowsily, she swung her legs over the bed, willing herself to walk to the desk at the far side of the room.

From the bottom left drawer, she took a bottle and a small glass, sighing when she saw the almost untouched bottle of sleeping tonic. She sipped at the spicy, fruity spirit, embracing the warmth creeping through her body.

White paper caught the corner of her eye. _If only I could burn you. I should pretend I never recieved. _Faeriln fingered the letter, making crescent-shaped indentions with her nails. Though the fireplace was cold and vacant, she could almost feel the flames. _They would kill me._

-------------------------

"The master gives instructions for you to wait in the east parlor," the slave girl said in her usual meek tone.

Behind her, Faeriln followed, apprehension building in her gut. She'd read the letter, four times, in fact. How is it that after years of missions getting that letter, _the_ letter still made her feel like retching? The second time, or rather her seventh mission, her second time actually witnessing a killing, her body gave in and she did vomit---all over her brother.

Faeriln sighed in annoyance when she saw that the slave was still standing in the doorway of the parlor.

"You may leave," she tersely told the girl. At the Tarkheena's obvious aggravation, the slave girl dropped into a fleeting curtsy before hurrying off to another task.

After hearing of the guest's foul mood, the next slave nervously bustled into the parlor, trying his best to steady the tea pot wobbling precariously on the silver tea tray. He set the tray on the table in front of her, sighing in relief.

"Tea?" he offered, lifting the ornate teapot.

"Yes," Faeriln shortly replied.

Just as Faerlin was taking the first sip of her tea (a rather bitter sip it was, for the Rahmeedrins never took but a pinch of sugar with their tea as did most honorable Calormenes), a tall woman entered the parlor. _Oh, Tash, give me self control. I fear I shall need it greatly. _Before the elder woman could rebuke her poor manners, Faeriln stood and curtsied.

"Granddaughter, I bring you good wishes from our friends in Besmer," her grandmother greeted with the same wrinkled, judgmental frown and stern, black eyes her face had become accustomed to displaying.

"You must extend my thanks to them," Faeriln replied, picking her tea cup up again. "Pardon my error if I should be incorrect, but were you not to return at the end of the month?"

"Yes, that is what I had planned." The elder Tarkheena tentatively sipped the steaming cup of tea the slave had just poured. "Unfortunately, Nellah and Gaztro's daughter, Cernai took ill. I feared it could be contagious, and at my age an illness is unaffordable."

"I suppose she is an infant, Cernai that is," Faeriln lethargically questioned, speaking the first thing that came to mind.

"No, she is not. Cernai is engaged to that handsome spice heir from Galma. Do you not remember the summer you spent at their lake villa? You two became fabulous playmates." Her grandmother's reproachful reply sounded more like an out right scolding.

"No, I do not, Grandmother for such a thing never happened. Perhaps, you are thinking of Dehveen and Cernai."

"I see you are going to be stubborn just as you have always been," the old woman said. "Though, that reminds me of something so I shall be kind and change the subject." Here, Faeriln resisted the urge to snort. "I received a letter from Dehveen the day I returned. You know her courtship with Prince Rabadash has grown quite serious now."

"Yes."

"Since the two are practically engaged, your sister has requested that I ask you what artisan made the necklace you wore at your wedding ceremony."

"Oh, I would not know," Faerlin listlessly replied as the slave boy poured her another cup of the herby tea. "Taluash might. He gave it to me the night after I finished my sacrifices to Zardeenah."

"I beg your pardon, but the master requests that his granddaughter see him in his study," the slave girl timidly waiting in the doorway announced.

"Very well, Faeriln. You are excused, but you will stay for dinner. Won't you?"

"Yes," Faeriln crossly muttered, the leather of the sofa squeaking as she rose. In a lifeless tone she corrected herself, "I shall."

Gingerly, she straightened out the unsightly wrinkles in the skirt of her dress, managing to keep the same austere face. _There is no choice here. _As she was led to her grandfather's study, her austere expression did not falter nor did her thoughts waver. _I have to do this. I have to. For her. I have to do this for her. _The brief exchange between her grandfather and the slave came to her ears as only mumbling.

As she shut the door behind her, her grandfather's black eyes continued to study the long scroll of parchment rolled out on the table before him. Clammy fingerprints lingered on the doorknob even after she had begun to walk towards the man in the corner. Senility had always been something the Rahmeedrins had said themselves to be unaffected by. However, by the way her grandfather was clutching his cane, seemingly oblivious that someone else had entered the room, Faeriln was beginning to reconsider this.

"Faeriln." As she bent her knees into a curtsy, she was careful to retain the stony look on her features. "Come to me, I have something to show to you."

She did exactly as she was told. Faeriln's eyes widened when she read the title of the map: _The Kingdom of Narnia_.

"This, granddaughter is the barbarian country of Narnia. For centuries, they have angered Tash." He paused to take a breath and gain a steadier hold on the top of his cane before placing a ringed finger on the map. "Cair Paravel, the home of the barbarian kings and queens."

Faeriln was not quite sure of what he had planned, but an awful, heavy feeling in her stomach had an idea.

"You shall travel with Prince Irseef to Cair Paravel. The High King has been told that you, or more correctly, your alias, Kirdra Aboshnee are close friends with the prince. A week after your arrival, Omad will come to aid you." Faeriln knew what his words meant…"You are to kill the High King."

For a moment, she thought she hadn't heard anything. Then, his words came together and her mind made sense of them. _Kill the High King. Kill the High King of Narnia._

"What does the prince know?" she monotonously asked, still staring at the tiny drawing of a large castle sitting on a white beach.

"He has been told nothing about our business, but Irseef has been told that if he wishes to take Rabadash's place as his father's (may he live forever) favorite, he will allow one of his father's (may he live forever) most favorable Tarkheenas to accompany him. "

Silence stilled her mind. The weight of the task lay heavy on her chest and her throat tightened.

"When do we leave?"

"In a fortnight's time."

Faeriln stiffened her back, raised her chin, but didn't dare to look up at her grandfather.

-------------------------

Two weeks past far too quickly for her liking. Taluash returned from his brief trip on business for his father's jewel mines. Nine days later, he left again. Faeriln remembered him mentioning something about the workers in the western mines rebelling. Nadiri changed her favorite color from green to purple, and Dehveen's courtship with Prince Rabadash came to an inevitable end.

Yet again, Faeriln found herself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open, mind ablaze and swirling with thoughts she tried and could not block out. There were no nightmares, just her and the voice of her thoughts. She hadn't bothered to get up for the secret bottle of spirits kept in her husband's desk. Something made her want to remain sober.

Pattering sounds of little toes tip-toeing quickly down the hallway grew closer. A smile crossed her face as the bedroom door creaked open and half of a face and a small hand clutched around a rag doll peaked through the crack.

"Momma," Nadiri called in a sweetly timorous voice. "Are you asleep?"

"I am awake, Nadi," Faeriln sighed, "You may come in."

With a bit of help from her mother, Nadiri tugged her body onto the coverlet and shimmied under the sheets.

"What is the matter, sweetheart?" Faeriln questioned, hugging her daughter to her bosom.

"I had a bad dream," Nadiri whispered, twiddling her rag doll's brown yarn plaits.

"No more bad dreams. You may sleep here with me."

For a moment, they were both silent; the only sound in the room was the chronic chirping of the crickets in the bushes outside.

"Momma, why are you leaving tomorrow?"

"I told you, sweetheart. I am running an errand for Baba," Faeriln replied, forcing a smile through her lie. Using her grandfather's nickname seemed to make it even worse.

"Oh." Nadiri twisted the purple bow on top of her doll's head. "When is Papa coming back?"

"Your papa says he will return very soon," Faeriln answered, tapping her daughter's nose twice. Nadiri's giggles made her smile, genuinely this time. "So you can play with him while I am gone."

"Okay," Nadiri yawned wide, head lulling back.

"Sweet dreams, Nadi," the young mother whispered into her daughter's cool hair.

Nadiri wriggled a bit, trying to snuggle into just the right position. Maybe it was the nights without sleep or stress, but Faeriln could have sworn she heard the little girl lying against her chest mumble, "I'll miss you, Momma." and her heart sank.


	2. Fake It

AN: I hate being sick. I hate it. Luckily, having no school bought me some extra time to finish this. Downside, my laptop has Vick's Salve on it.

Disclaimer: Let's put it this way, if it existed in the Narniaverse _before_ I wrote this: **C.S Lewis**owns it. If there was knowledge of it/him/her _after_ I decided to play Leggos and Lincoln Logs in the Narniaverse: **P.B **owns it.

(Also, I don't own any of the rights to Leggos or Lincoln Logs.)

**Chapter 2:**

**Fake It**

Waves of cyan crushed against the ship's hull like yards of velvet. Under better circumstances, Faeriln would have thought they were beautiful, and maybe even gazed at them for a few minutes just to watch their fluid motions. Now, they made her feel slightly nauseous but otherwise, indifferent.

She'd given up on anger and dread. Instead, she had replaced them with a dull sense of fear and the unmovable worry of a mother. Any loathing she might have had for her grandfather or, more truthfully, her family in general had simmered to a stony distaste. Faeriln only wondered how long her calm would last.

"Are you enjoying the breeze?" Prince Irseef asked with an edge to his voice, breaking into her thoughts as he walked over to where she stood at the ship's edge.

"Yes." She had barely noticed the coolness on her skin. "It's lovely."

Neither said anything for several more minutes. They had been like this for most of the voyage. It was as if Irseef had not even noticed her, not that she had pretended to notice him either.

"You are not here to court the kings are you?" he asked, gazing out over the water. A miniature castle could be seen waiting on the horizon.

"I am a widow. I have no plans to remarry," Faeriln replied. Lying had become so easy it frightened her sometimes.

"I do not know what you are doing here," Irseef said, "and I have no wish to learn. My father (may he live forever) gave orders that you were to travel with me. That is all I need to know. However, whatever it is you wish to accomplish on this trip, do not let it interfere with my affairs."

"I hadn't any intention to."

For the first time since they had begun speaking, Irseef turned to face her.

"You do not seem innocent, you know," he stated, sounding a bit arrogant. Really, it came very natural to him.

"I am not ignorant either." She turned to face him also. "Prince Rabadash is greatly favored by your father (and may he live forever), is he not? You are very envious of that, are you not?" Prince Irseef's eyes narrowed into dark, angry almonds, and his jaw clenched tight. "If I am not mistaken, Rabadash is at the moment on holiday while you are completing important business for the Tisroc (may he live forever). Do not think this means he is finally favoring you. You are here because I need to be here. You are to go along with whatever I do. That is your purpose. If anything should go wrong with my affairs, I assure you, there will be consequences."

"Do you know who I am? I am an heir to the Calormene throne. You are only a petty noblewoman. Your threats do not intimidate me," Irseef angrily ranted. "My personal affairs are of none of your concern and will remain as such. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my prince, but once you lay with your brother's lady, sabotage him at court, and poison his steed, your 'personal affairs' are no longer quite so private," she casually stated. Normally, she would not have enjoyed seeing someone squirm so much, but from what she had seen and the gossip she had heard, he deserved more than a little discomfort.

"I should have you whipped for speaking to me like that," he hissed.

"Whatever you may like, but remember that my orders are decided by the tisroc (may he reign eternally). You and I are on the same side here."

"So we are supposed to be friends?" Irseef bitingly questioned after a short silence.

"Yes."

"Then we are friends."

With that, Irseef stamped away to, no doubt, take his irritation out on the crew. Enjoying the calm of the sea as it contrasted with the turmoil inside herself, Faeriln stood at the prow for another few moments before descending down the steps into her own cabin. Just as her foot touched the last stair, she heard shouts from the crow's nest and the beginnings of chaos on the deck above. Slowly, Faeriln resumed her place on the deck.

"Ain't she a beauty?" a sailor asked. His beard hung down to the middle of his pouch of a stomach, and he didn't look like the cleanliest of men.

She didn't say anything. The sailor waited for something, but she did not even acknowledge his presence. Someone called from the other side of the hull and he jogged away, leaving Faeriln staring out at the castle on the beach and the miniature figure waiting in the distance from a miniscule window. As the _Serpentine Divine _drew closer to the docks, the sounds and movements on board frenzied and the figure grew larger and clearer. _That must be a crown on its---_his_ head._

People around her scurried and climbed, ordered and supervised. Faeriln broke away from her place at the prow. Getting caught staring one of the kings of Narnia would not be the best start for someone trying to seem as unsuspicious as possible. Before she realized it, someone was shouting "drop anchor", and the _Serpentine Divine _was being secured to the docks.

"Thank you," Faeriln said as Irseef hooked his arm about hers. The corners of his lips curled into a small, mischievous grin.

"What better escort than a friend?" the prince said, tiny embers of anger smoldering in his eyes. Faeriln snorted a bit. The two walked down the long wooden ramp with their arms locked in a friendly hold. Even the horses attached to the waiting carriage below thought it was real.

-------------------------

From earlier (or rather fifty-four seconds ago), she didn't remember much. Faeriln didn't remember the view from the carriage or even how its interior looked. Now that she was here, curtsying to the Narnian royals, she found she could recall little more than the clacking sound of hoofs and wheels on cobblestone stamping out the gasping rote of the Bight of Calormen.

As she straightened, resuming her posture, looking proud and genteel, she felt disgusted. This person, these thoughts formulating whispers to her sub-conscious were not who she was. They were wavering, anxious, unstable, and worst of all, uncertain. Weakness is what she knew them to be. She had learned that in the life she lived, weaknesses would prove deadly. Many times, she had seen that proven.

The first king, Edmund he said his name was, took her hand and lightly pressed his lips to the back of it. Her lips broke into a friendly smile. It wasn't Faeriln's though. It was Kirdra's. Of course, he did not know so he smiled back humbly. _Stop being afraid. _She would not let herself become a weakling. _Nadiri does not need a weakling._

Queen Lucy stretched her height a bit so that she might give Faeriln a proper peck on the cheek. As Queen Susan leaned over to do the same, Faeriln caught a glimpse of Irseef making a face with his hand locked in some sort of strange greeting gesture. Why was King Edmund jiggling the prince's hand? She hadn't anytime to ponder before the High King had seized her hand.

Not once had she looked at him before now. She told herself it was the instinct to guard herself from further anxiety, not just plain fear or intimidation. His lips grazed the darker skin of her hand, and his smiling eyes met hers when he rose up. Palpitations grew in her chest, but she thought, _No, stop this! _

"Welcome to Narnia, and welcome to Cair Paravel, Prince Irseef." High King Peter spoke with strength and pride. "Welcome, Kirdra Tarkheena."

"Thank you," Faeriln said.

"Yes, thank you for the invitation," Irseef closely trailed Faeriln's words, adding a certain charm to his voice.

"Thank you for accepting. It seems we have selected a perfect time, too. We had a lengthy spring this year so you've come at the very start of summer. That's always been my favorite part," Queen Susan said with a friendly smile.

"Narnian summers are always such a splendid sight. It would be a pity if we wasted one by not sharing it with guests," Queen Lucy merrily added.

In truth, she was just a girl; not even sixteen by Faeriln's judgment. In fact, all her siblings looked very young for their titles. The High King didn't look but a year Faeriln's senior, and his brother looked even younger. Queen Susan appeared to be about Dehveen's age, a few years younger than Faeriln. She was quite the beauty, and obviously worth a great deal. What was keeping her from wedding?

"I suppose the trade agreement would not have signed itself either," High King Peter said, smiling the same warm smile.

"I know it definitely did not write itself. That much is for certain," muttered King Edmund, inwardly scowling at the thought of how many hours he had spent staring at the same piece of parchment.

"Let's just hope we've gotten it right this time. Although, we do object to a few of the items the Calormene merchants aspire to export to Narnia."

"Oh, do let's put aside business affairs for now. I'm sure Prince Irseef and the tarkheena would much rather take a rest," chastised Queen Lucy.

"That would be fantastic. I never could sleep a wink on the sea with that perpetual rocking and creaking," Irseef cut in.

"Of course, I'd nearly forgotten. You two have been on a ship for the last two days. Very well then, I shall be seeing you all at dinner," High King Peter said.

"Someone should call you around six so for you girls, that means you have less than three hours now to get primped," King Edmund good-naturedly joked.

"My, that's very clever, Edmund," his older sister sarcastically returned, tilting her head to the side. The high king smirked before he and his brother bowed and walked away. "This is Rowna." Queen Susan motioned to the large beige hare standing off to the side. Rowna curtsied (this was one of the last things Faeriln expected a hare to do)."She'll show you to your chambers."

Rowna's gait was a sort of bouncing skip as she lead the two Calormenes down a long, wide hallway. Graceful marble arches ran along the ceiling, matching the walls. Along the way, Rowna pointed out a suit of armor or a particular vase, reciting things like "Frank the Third brought this back from such-and-such.". At the end of the hall, a staircase began swirling upwards. Around and around, Faeriln followed the other two, stair by stair, catching a glimpse of the outside world, every now and then, through the small, rectangular windows. Mid-ways down the hallway, Rowna hopped/skipped to one of the many arched doors and opened it with a bronze key she took from her apron (this answered Faeriln's question of what exactly a hare would use an apron for).

"This is the bed chamber. The desk has been supplied with quills, ink, parchment, and the like for whatever letters you might want to write. Through that door on the left is a sitting room connecting with Prince Irseef's chambers, the other door leads to a bathing chamber, and out those glass doors is the balcony. Queen Susan chose these suites for the two of you herself," Rowna explained, standing in the middle of the room alongside Faeriln.

"That's very thoughtful. I shall have to thank her," Faeriln said, smiling down at the hare. Rowna smiled back, showing two impressive front teeth.

"Your things are being brought up. If you'd like, I could have a bath drawn up for you."

"A bath would be lovely."

"Alright, then. I'll be back in a few moments."

Once Rowna had bounced out of the door, Faeriln stood in the middle of the room for a few more moments, pondering what to do next. _I suppose it is nice. The bed looks lovely_, she thought, languidly strolling over to edge. With a sigh, she sat down on the lavender duvet. _A nap sounds wonderful---a bath, then a nap_, Faeriln continued, brushing her hand over the floral pattern embroidered in gold thread. It felt like a cloud, but she did not exactly smell heavenly.

Two servants trudged through the open doorway, each with a two trunks in hand. She knew women who would have considered bringing only four trunks with them anywhere preposterous. One example was her sister. Then again, she had never been one for heavy traveling. Now that she thought about it, her servant girl had packed her trunks, actually.

"I'll unpack your things while the bath is being drawn," Rowna announced as she hopped back through the doorway.

"Thank you," Faeriln drawled with the same painful smile as she rose from the bed. "I will be in the sitting room if you need me for any reason."

"Yes, Milady." Rowna nodded in understanding before going back to her task.

The door to the sitting room let out a high creak when Faeriln turned the knob. _The Narnians do seem to have good taste._ Two lavish sofas sat in the middle of the sitting room; between them a dark-stained coffee table.

On the wall to her left hung a tapestry of what appeared to be half-goat, half-man creatures dancing a jig around a scarlet campfire. A few were playing a set of bound, hollow sticks, and others wore ivy crowns with wildflowers weaved in them. Every single one looked so blissfully content. It was as if whomever had woven the tapestry had caught them at their very happiest moment in life.

"Tarkheena," Rowna called from the doorway. Faeriln tore her eyes away from the tapestry.

"Yes?"

"Your bath is ready," the hare told.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Faeriln said, wearing Kirdra's smile again.

For a brief moment, while she had been looking at the tapestry, a spark of happiness had fluttered in her chest. It fluttered again when she caught sight of a familiar ragdoll with two brown plaits tied off with two purple ribbons wearing a purple dress sitting on the middle of the bed.


End file.
